‘In my office, Larry,’ Isaac shouted from his office.
‘Sorry about the late arrival,’ Larry, looking bedraggled, said as he sat down.
‘Close the door. I don’t want the whole department hearing what I have to say to you.’
‘It was a rough night.’
‘Another drunken night, and how many more of these do you intend to have?’
‘I was trying to get leads, and you know how it is. I have to drink with them, my informers, the criminals, those who know something.’
‘We’ve spoken about this before on too many occasions. I’ve been tolerant, but I can’t continue to overlook what you keep doing, not even for the sake of the department. Your wife, what has she got to say?’
Larry shifted uneasily in his seat.
‘Your wife? You never answered my question,’ Isaac said.
‘She wouldn’t let me in the house. I tried to explain that it was a murder enquiry, and I was only doing my job.’
‘I can’t blame her,’ Isaac said. ‘No woman would tolerate what you’re putting her through. Where did you sleep?’
‘In the car, the only place.’
‘Will she let you in the house now?’
‘I hope so.’
‘So do I. I need you fit and ready for service. You’ve got two hours to go home, have a shower and brush your teeth, and whatever you do use plenty of deodorant. We need to raise the pressure on Samantha Matthews, and probably Hamish McIntyre.’
***
Liz Spalding walked down the lane from her cottage to the village not far away. It was a pleasant day, and the sun was shining, although there was a cool breeze coming from the sea. The visit of the two police officers, the reopening of the investigation into the death of Stephen Palmer, had caused her to reflect on the past and query the present.
She had not altogether been truthful with the police. She had told them that she had been fond of Stephen, had even loved him, not that she had been obsessed with the man, desperate for him to marry her, but he had another. How she hated that woman, and yet at Stephen’s funeral she could do nothing but stare at her, not able to say one word to her.
The new man in her life was coming that night; she wondered if she should continue with him. After Stephen’s death, she had married soon after, a good and decent man, but it had not been the same, not as it had been with Stephen.
‘Good day for a stroll,’ an old and arthritis-riddled woman who was passing said.
‘It sure is, Mrs Venter,’ Liz said warmly. The old woman, Liz knew, was the local busybody, but she was regarded as harmless by the local community.
Liz continued walking down the lane; it wasn’t that far from the village, but it was downhill. On the way back, it would not be so easy, and she would be carrying supplies from the local supermarket.
She decided to sit down on a rock at the side of the lane, with a view out to sea; a sailing boat, its sails unfurled, could be seen in the distance. Closer inshore, two fishing boats were returning with their catches.
As she sat there, reflecting on the beauty of the place, another woman came and sat down by her side.
‘It’s beautiful down here,’ the woman said. Liz could tell she was not a local; she assumed she was another person down from the city looking for a holiday home in the area.
‘I’m thinking of staying here myself on a more permanent basis,’ Liz said. There was a familiarity about the woman. It puzzled her.
‘I’ve only come for one reason – to see you.’
It was then that Liz made the connection; it was the mysterious woman from the funeral, the woman who had kept her away from Stephen; it was her rival.
‘It’s been a long time; do we have anything to talk about?’
Liz wasn’t sure what else to say or what to do.
‘I loved him, the same as you,’ Samantha Matthews said.
‘It’s been twenty years; the past is the past, and no amount of recriminations or sadness will bring him back.’
‘I had to see you one time to explain what happened and why he had died.’
‘Does it serve any purpose, our meeting like this?’
‘My father found out I was having an affair with Stephen, you know that?’
‘No, I didn’t, why are you telling me this? Of what use is it to me?’
‘My father killed him, and now the police want to know the truth, but I can’t tell.’
‘What do you intend to do?’
‘I only know of one certainty at this time. What happens today will decide my actions hereafter.’
‘I never knew your name,’ Liz said. She felt calm sitting next to the woman, as if time had somehow transmuted the woman into a friend.
‘Samantha. My father is Hamish McIntyre, have you heard of him?’
‘I can’t say that I have,’ Liz said. She wasn’t sure where the conversation was heading.
‘My father is a criminal. I have always known what he is, and he has always treated me well.’
‘But he killed Stephen. And now you have told me the truth. What do you expect me to do? Tell the police?’
‘My father taught me well. Those we love, we love with an intensity; those we hate, we do not allow to live.’
Samantha stood up and snatched Liz roughly from where she was sitting. The woman wrapped her arms firmly around Liz’s body from behind. Taken by surprise, Liz struggled to comprehend what was happening, her feet dragging on the rough ground. In the distance, the sailing boat continued to bob in the sea; closer inshore, the two fishing boats had entered the small harbour. Sheep grazed in
